


where the magic grew

by corsicana



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28559466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corsicana/pseuds/corsicana
Summary: “Did you know that faith magic actually works better when the healer and the injured are in physical contact?” Sylvain continues, interrupting him. “The magic transfers into the wound more effectively that way. Fascinating stuff, really.”Ashe had, in fact, known this, thanks to his multiple study sessions with Annette. She learns best by teaching others. “I know what you’re trying to get at,” Ashe tells him with a half-hearted eye-roll. There’s no heat when he says, “You’re impossible, you know that?”Or: kissing, as it happens, is an effective way to tap into healing magic.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	where the magic grew

Sylvain has been insufferable ever since the professor discovered his budding talent in reason. He finds any excuse to flaunt his newfound skill in magic, from starting the fire when he’s on cooking duty to lighting someone’s way back to the dorms after nightfall. It wouldn’t be so bad, really, if these things weren’t always accompanied with a smug little smirk as he kindled the flame in the palm of his hand. _Impressed, aren’t you?_ it asks, loud and clear. 

Admittedly, yes, Sylvain’s penchant for magic is remarkable. “I can’t believe he’s only just started and he’s already catching up to Mercie and me!” Annette’s groaned time and time again as she and Ashe are studying. “I went to a specialized school for this and everything! And he just—he just waltzes right in here and picks it up like it’s nothing!”

“You’re the one who always tells me that hard work beats talent,” Ashe reminds her. Sylvain’s begun showing up to more of the lectures now that he’s getting into magic, but it’s still not a sure thing.

“I guess,” Annette mutters. “It’s still frustrating.”

She’s not wrong. Perhaps the most frustrating part of this whole thing is how Sylvain has been flaunting his faith magic, actually, rather than his reason. Case in point: after Felix’s crest accidentally activated as he and Ashe were sparring, Ashe was left with a scrape on his arm. It hurt, yeah, but it would heal just fine on its own before that month’s mission, and it was hardly disabling. No need to waste Mercedes’ energy on it.

Even so—“You know I could heal that,” Sylvain quips soon after meeting up with Ashe that evening. They’ve fallen into a nightly ritual of reading together in Ashe’s room, the silence heavy and comfortable, broken only by commentary on the plot. Ashe is barely a few pages into his book, only just having gotten settled on his bed. “Wouldn’t even take a second.”

“It’s fine, really,” Ashe tells him. “I wouldn’t—”

“Did you know that faith magic actually works better when the healer and the injured are in physical contact?” Sylvain continues, interrupting him. “The magic transfers into the wound more effectively that way. Fascinating stuff, really.” 

Ashe had, in fact, known this, thanks to his multiple study sessions with Annette. She learns best by teaching others. “I know what you’re trying to get at,” Ashe tells him with a half-hearted eye-roll. There’s no heat when he says, “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you _still_ don’t want me to heal you?” Sylvain asks, faux hurt leaking into his tone. “You wound me.”

“Alright, alright,” Ashe sighs, fighting off a smile that climbs onto his face anyway. He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to face Sylvain, who’s sitting at Ashe’s desk. “Go ahead.”

Sylvain blinks innocently, not moving from the desk. “You can’t really expect me to do all the work, Ashe, can you? That’s cruel. If you wanna get healed, it’s gonna take some effort on your part, too.” 

Ashe huffs out a laugh. “You’re impossible,” he says again, but it’s laced with fondness. Ashe hops off the bed and ducks down to brush his lips across Sylvain’s, at which Sylvain makes a pleased little hum, pulling Ashe a little closer.

Healing magic, Ashe has found, varies from healer to healer. Mercedes’ healing is like the thaw that leads to spring, a refreshing chill. Annette’s is a sporadic little thing, similar to static electricity in how it darts all around the body before converging on the wound.

Sylvain’s, though, smolders down through Ashe’s lips and into his veins. Like when the summer sun verges on too hot, it prickles all over Ashe’s skin in the most delightful way. It’s the worst—best—at the wound on his arm, searing something lovely and sweet. Ashe inhales sharply, heart stuttering, and Sylvain briefly smiles against his lips, kissing him a little deeper for it. 

All too soon, Sylvain is pulling away, glancing to Ashe’s arm to see his handiwork. Ashe follows his gaze only to see that the scrape is entirely gone, not even a tinge of discoloration where the wound was. “All good, yeah?” Sylvain asks him.

“Uh, yeah,” Ashe answers, hating how the heat of Sylvain’s healing is already fading from him. It’s a different, somehow, than any of their other kisses. In the vulnerability, perhaps, or in letting Sylvain become a part of him for even a moment. “Thanks.”

“You look disappointed,” Sylvain says a little too casually, a little too knowingly. “Are you?”

“Stop that,” Ashe mutters, blushing. “You know exactly what the issue is.”

“Oh, maybe,” Sylvain says vaguely, “but a little stroke of the ego never hurt anyone, you know?”

Ashe hesitates for only a moment before, in lieu of a reply, kissing him again. There’s nothing to heal, not this time, but phantom warmth still tingles down Ashe’s spine nonetheless when Sylvain oh-so-delicately cups Ashe’s face, brushing his thumb across Ashe’s cheek. It’s intimacy of a different sort—there’s a painstaking gentleness to it that Sylvain’s healing, fiery and passionate, lacks. 

Ashe swallows, kisses Sylvain a little deeper. His heart stutters just the same.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to all my friends for letting me spam this idea in their dms for like two days before i broke down and wrote it
> 
> find me [on twitter](https://twitter.com/candidum)! comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :-)


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